FRENCH'S STANDARD DRAMA. 



S 991 
S3 E8 
opy 1 




EVERY-DAY LIFE. 



% llau. 



BY C. W. S. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by Samuel French, in th« Clerk's OfiSce of 
the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. 



NEW YORK : 
SAMUEL FRENCH, 

122 Nassau Street. (Up Stairs). 
Monograph 






.S3 6.8 



CARROLL, an Amateur Artist. 

FOX, an Elderly Young Man. 

DICK MEDLAY, a Young Young Man. 

WISE, an Old Merchant. 

SEELEY, his Head Clerk. 

WAIT, a Policeman. 

SAMUEL, a Student. 

BLAKE, Captain in Merchant Service. 

PIKE, a Gambler. 

MRS. PIIIPPS, a Widow. 

LIZZIE WISE. 

KITTY BROOM, a Housemaid. 

1st and 2d MEMBERS OF CLUB. 

GROCER and GROCERY LOAFERS. 

ITALIAN BOY and GIRL. 

AUCTIONEER and CROWD at Auction Sale. 

A WHITEHALL BOATMAN. 

GUESTS at Wise's Evening Party. 

SCENE— New York. TIME— Present. 



1 



EYERY-DAY EIFE. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — Library in Wise's House. 

Lizzie discovered, seated at tahh^draiving, and Carroll standing 
near and giving lessons. 

Carroll. If you please, make the shading a little heavier 
just there. So; that improves it. {While 1jIZ7.tr continues draw- 
ing^ Carroll moves off a little to look at hooks, ^c, in library. 

Wise. [Speaking outside.'] Come Lizzie [enters in nwifier and. 
gaiters, with riding-ichip in hand], the horses are at the door, and 
we've a fine afternoon for a run over in Jersey. [Oh serving Car- 
roll]. [Asidel. My new clerk, by all tliat's wonderful. What 
can he be doing here, in m}^ house, and alone with my daughter. 

Lizzie. Wait a moment, papa, and I'll let you see how much I 
have improved with good instruction. 

Wise. Oh ! he's here giving lessons in drawing. [Aside'\., He's 
no doubt some foreign scapegrace, come over to this country, to 
mend his fortunes • and makes use of his accomplishments, to 
get inside of people's houses. Truly our houses are but little 
protection to us now-a-days. We have English burglars enter- 
ing through the roof, Irish policemen in at the basementj and 
German, French, and Italian teachers of this and that thing, 
walking in hy the hall door. 

Lizzie. There, papa, you'll say that is better than my school 
girl scratches, as you used to call my drawing [showing a sketch. 

Wise. Very good indeed my child, if 3^ou — 

Lizzie. If I did it all? Tmade every line; Mr. why, I 

don't yet know his name — never made a strokfe of this. 

Wise. It's very well done, and I'll have a frame carved ex- 
pressly for it. [Aside.] One of my office people here in my 
house, in business hours, too. He's moving off, and thinks, per- 
haps, I've not observed him [Carroll, hoioing to Lizzie, and 



4 EVERY-DAY LIF« 

exil], and you sa}^ you don't know the name of this new teacher 
of yours. There are some designs here beside crayon designs. 

Enter Servant. 

Servant. Mrs. Phipps and Mr. Edgerton. 

Enter Mrs. P. and Samuel. 

Mrs. p. She's here, and that fellow's just gone. Now, my 
dear Samuel, don't lose your op])ortunities. Remember, try and 
appear the gentleman. 

Wise. Your servant, madam. 

Mrs. p. How odd it seems to find a merchant at home at this 
hour of the day. 

Wise. We people who yet live down town, have that privi- 
lege ; we can walk into our own houses at any hour, without 
alarming the family, or making the servants stare at us. 

Mrs. p. Oh, sir ! I know how domestic you are, and that, 
with all your immense business, you can find hours in every day 
to spend in the society of your family. But why should you 
continue to live down here, in this dreadful neighborhood, 
wtiere you must see a crowd of disgusting wretches every time 
you look out of your parlor windows, and when you step out of 
your hall door, are likely to stumble over some ragged woman 
with a nursing bab}' in her arms. 

Wise. You surprise me, madam. I thought you were the de- 
voted friend of those poor creatures. 

Mrs. p. What a womun can do for the poor and degraded, I 
humbly try to do. But charity should be systematic ; and, in 
all the various benevolent societies of which I am a directress, 
our rule is: never to give any tiling for the comfort of the body 
to those who show no concern for the good of their souls. 

Wise. That is — you force them to swallow a pinch of brim- 
stone with every bowl of soup. 

Mrs. p. We've just formed an association to aid the thousands 
of poor Chinese now in New York. [Ojfenng subscription paper, 
while Wise is looking at it, she glances anxiously at Samuel, u'ho 
is trying to he agreeable to Lizzie] 

Samuel. Vastly pretty, indeed. Miss Elizabeth. Its surpris- 
ing what neat work those beggarly looking foreigners can do 
with their nasty hands. 

Wise. {Looking up from paper]. Your hands are more delicate 
than your tongue, young man. Pity, Croton water is 'nt good 
for one as for the other. 

Mrs. p. Don't say any tlnng to mortify him, I beseech you, 
Bir. He's a deserving young gentleman of humble parentage. 



feVERY-DAY LIFE. 5 

and I am educating him, at great expense, to labor in the sacred 
profession. 

Lizzie. I don't think my Crawing-mastcr is a foreigner. 

Samuel. I declare, I think this one is the cleverest of 'em all ; 
you must let me keep this, Miss Elizabech. 

Lizzie. You'll excuse me, sir, but — [Samuel takes the droAoing 
Lizzie had shoim to her Father, oMd, folds it up foiii'-sqvare, and 
puts in his pocke^]. You can keep it now, since you show such 
an appreciation of art. What vulgar impertinence. [Aside]. 

Wise. Why, madam, there are not a hundred Chinamen in 
New York, and you've money enough subscribed here to feed a 
whole province. A Mr. Fox, I see, has put down two hundred 
dollars. He must be some person who has made money in the 
Cooley trade. 

Mrs. p. Mr. Fox is a wealthy bachelor. Some years since 
he was a vain young man, caring only for the follies of fashion- 
able life. But now he is wholly changed, and strives to redeem 
the time by a life of self-sacrificing benevolence. Come, sir, yon 
can well afford to give us your name. 

Wise. And I can well afford to refuse it. No, madam, my 
charity is rather impulsive than systematic. But Lizzie, here, 
can better attend to such matters [gives pajjer to Lizzie]. I must 
hasten to tlie office [aside], and hear what my truant clerk can 
have to say for himself. [Exit. 

Mrs. p. Hardened old money-grabber. You may go and look 
after your coffee-bags and sugar-boxes. There 're not many men 
in New York who dare refuse to subscribe when I ask them. The 
world has just found out how rich he is, or /could make him feel 
that ^ it would be better for his credit to put down his name for 
something, when I call. [Lizzie subscribes, and returns paper to 
Mrs. p.] Thank you, my dear. Men are so engrossed with the 
cares of business, they have little time to consider the claims of 
the poor and suffering, therefore we ladies must be all the more 
active in their behalf. 

Lizzie. I am never happier than when I can find some poor 
person to attend to, whose misfortune I know is real. 

Mrs. p. But to distinguish between real and pretended mis- 
fortune is a difficult task. My carriage is at the door, and if you 
have time, I will take you to see wretciiedness such as you have 
no conception of. 

Lizzie. But is there no danger in going alone to such places? 

Mrs. p. As the divine Comas has said : 

" So dear to Heaven is saintly charity, 
That when a soul is found sincerely kind, 
A (lioiis ml liverieu aiiyels l.icky her, 
I)rivii)cr {Hr off ea(!)i thing of sin and guilt;" 

1* 



6 EVERY-DAY LIFE. 

But I have with me a respectable-looking man, who is a police- 
man in plain clothes. My friend Mr. Fox urged me to take him 
with me in my rounds through the haunts of vice and pov- 
erty. 

Lizzie. I am glad of an opportunity to go with you, and will 
be ready in a moment. [Exit Lizzie. 

Mrs. p. There's not a young man in all this cit}^ that could 
have the chance that you, Samuel, have now ; so think of all the 
little hints I've given you about your behavior — be as polite as 
possible. 

Samuel. I've been trying to, ma'am, and I can't get on at all. 
That drawing-master we see here so often — he's more in her eye, 
I fancy. 

Mrs. p. Don't mind such people. She has never yet had an 
admirer, and a girl's vanity is easily flattered the first time she 
finds one. Kind Providence has made 5'^ou good-looking, and I 
haven't spared expense for your education, so as to prepare you 
to become an instrument of good in the w^orld. Oh, how it would 
rejoice my poor lonely heart to see you, Samuel — your education 
completed — to see you married (well married, I mean) to such a 
prize as this lady would be, and then to see you walk with 
her as your wife up the aisle of my new chapel, and then watch 
you as you ascended the pulpit stairs. Oh, the vision is too joy- 
ful f 

Enter Lizzie. 

Lizzie. I am ready now. 

Mrs. p. Oh, my dear Miss Elizabeth, if all our young ladies 
were like you, how the hearts of the poor would rejoice. 
Samuel. Miss Elizabeth, allow me the honor. Exeunt. 



SCENE II.— Wise's Counting -House. 

Several Clerks at desks, hoxk — Seeley at a desk, r. — Carroll 

at another desk, l. 

Enter Wise. 

Wise. [Aside.] He is here before me, and at his work, too, on 
those Spanish letters I gave liim to translate. One wouldn't sup- 
pose that hardly ten minutes ago he was in my house, pretending 
to give lessons in drawing. 

Car. [Bfiv'iv'j I'a/H'r.s to AVise.] Tlie letters you gave me this 
morning are finished, .-ir. 

Wise. Quick work you make of it, indeed ! 

Car. The work is not difficalt. I had finislied them before 
going out to lunclj. 



EVERY-DAY LIFE. / 

"Wise. [T/irning over 2)<'J'pe'''s, finds a crayon likeness of Lizzie.] 
Ha ! what is this 1 [Aside.] A portrait of my daughter ! — what 
assurance ! [To Carroll.] Why do you give me this, sir ? 

Oar. Pardon mc ! That was not intended. 

Wise. How came it here ? It seems a fresh piece of work. 
Let me tell you, sir, South Street is no place for the fine arts! 
and business hours no time for making figures of this sort ! 

Car. I will explain. That drawing was not made in this office. 
— The hour allowed for lunch I have used in giving lessons to a 
lady living near the Battery, and, having but just returned from 
there, that scrap of paper was, for a moment, laid upon the desk. 

[Carroll reaches to take it. 
■ Wise. Allow me to keep it, as I happen to have it. But, pray, 
who can there be living near the Battery, that has time or taste 
for the fine arts ? 

Car. I only know the number, " 20," on the door. 

Wise. That is my own house. [Aside.'] You visit the house 
dail^', and haven't found out who lives there ? 

Car. I have not heard the name mentioned, but I've no doubt 
the people are highly respectable. Wishing to avail myself of 
every chance for getting a living, I advertised, a fortniglit since, to 
give instruction in drawing, and received but one answer — from 
that lad}'. 

Wise. [Aside.] I seem to recollect Lizzie said something 
of a new teacher she had found. Can it be possible, now, that he 
doesn't know he is talking to her father? [To Carroll.] You 
have not been a long time in this countrj' ? 

Car. I returned home to New- York a few weeks since, after 
an absence of several 3^ears. 

Wise. This is, then, your native city, Mr. — Mr. — 

Car. Carroll. My father, George Carroll, lived and died here 
in this cit}^ 

Wise. Carroll ! There was but one of that name that I re- 
member, years ago. 

Car. My father was a merchant in this street. 

Wise. George Carroll your father ! Are you the son of 
my oldest and best friend ? Yes, I see you have his features ! — 
you are, indeed, his son ! and he, the best and kindest gentleman I 
ever knew. We were fast friends when boys together, and for 
years after that, till our paths in life separated. For he inherited 
wealth and a name in the commercial world, but I had my own 
way to make, by going to Ciiina, India, and about; so that after- 
wards I only saw him at intervals of years. 

Car. You must, then, know the sad reverses that finally befell 
him before his death ? 

Wise. I know it all, my young friend — the change of fortune that 



8 EVKRY-DAY LIFE. 

happened to him and to you For many days before your father's 
death, I was a great deal with him He confided to me the state 
of his affairs, and I saw that his own natur;il l)enevolence had been 
the canse of his difficulties. If he had been a harder creditor, he 
might at this moment be alive and prosperous 

Car. And the thought that I, his son, was fiir away from hira 
in his last gkiomy hours, will reproacii me to the end of life. 

WrsE. You could liave known nothmg of his troubles until it was 
too late. He often spoke of you. His last words were of his son ; 
not in vain regrets for the wealth that was lo.-.t and gone for ever 
— but he blamed himself tliat he had not prepared you for some 
useful and certain business in life. 

Car True ! my father was too indulgent — allowing me to spend 
5'ears in Europe to gratify an imagined talent for sculpture — when 
I ought to have been working at a desk here in his counting- 
house 

Wise. But let us now think what is best to be done for the 
future. 

Car. Alas ! sir, yai alread}' know the extent of my capacity 
for being useful, i'ou advertised for a translating clerk, and I 
came ; I advertised to teach drawing, and found but one pupil, 
who has to-day finished her course of lessons. 

Wise. Those two things are not much, to be sure : 3'et, if 
George Carroll's son inherits a share of his father's noble qualities, 
I, as his father's friend, will gladly aid him to make his way in the 
world. Here, you see, is a room full of young men, busy enough 
the 3''ear round. Take a desk, give your itime and thoughts 
to business, and leave those old friends of yours — the fine arts — 
for home recreation. 

Car. I can only express how highly I value such an opportuni- 
ty, by striving to make the best use of it : knowing that I can 
never hope to meet aiother like it. But I greatly fear to let it 
be seen how ignorant I am of the commonest details of business. 

Wise. We never expect much from new comers, but give 
them work ; and those who are industrious and careful make 
their way up : — the others soon fall out, and that is the last we 
know of them. Mr. Seeley, [Seeley leaves his desk and conies 
forward.] Mr. Carroll, here, will have a desk in the office. 

Seeley. Will he begin to-day, sir ? 

Wise. [Hesitating.] No — not to day. To-morrow, perhaps. 
[Aside.] A thought occurs to me, and he may be useful just now 
in another way. You are, I suppose, skilled in matters 
of taste, and can, therefore, assist me in a little private affair. 
The other day I bought one of those new style of houses up town. 
But I have told no one of it, even in m}' own fiimil}'. I thought 
I woul 1 fiu'ni-ih and get it all read}' as a little surprise for Christ- 



EVEKY-DAY LIFE. y 

mas. You can advise me about the inside decorations, and in 
choosing the furniture, and especially in buying something in the 
way of sculptures and bronzes. 

Car. That will be a very agreeable commission ; but it is not 
easy to act for others in matters of taste. 

Wise. Tliey are things I've no practice in. But I don't wish 
my house made to look like a steamboat cabin, nor an ice-cream 
shop, with cast iron ornaments, gilded putty, pasteboard or 
plaster of Paris. I prefer honest oak or mahogany, neatly 
carved ; and that, with a good bronze, or a marble figure or two, 
'11 do. Come, we'll go now up Broadwaj^, and see what there is 
to be got. [Exeunt Wise and Carroll. 



SCENE III. — Carroll's Lodgings^ loith statuettes^ drawings and 

works of art. 

Portfolio of draioings on frame — an easel, on which is a small bas- 
relief model of female head, on which Carroll is discovered at 
work. 

Car. It is finished, and I can do no more with this cold, dull 
cla}^ ; only the radiant marble can express the beaut}'- of that 
face, whose smiles have made me almost forget the dark future 
that lies before me. The marble, too, will smile, and though it 
cannot hear or speak, it may make my hours less solitary. I 
shall then not be alone. 

Enter Kitty. 

Kitty. Two young persons, Italians, I think, have called to 
see you, sir. 

Car. Let them come up, Kitty. 

Enter Italian Girl and Boy. 

Girl. Buon giorno, Signor Carroll. 

Car. Speak English, Laura. You must learn to speak Eng- 
lish. 

Girl. I cannot learn, e defficele ; mine little broder here, he 
learn very fast. 

Car. Let's hear you talk. Carlo. How does your father. 

Boy. My father, is now got most very well : he eat good deal ; 
hefwalk out doors ; he see the very bright sun like Italy, and he 
feel ver}' happy. 

Car. I am glad to hear that ; here is some money for him. 
And take this to your %ther, he is to cut it in that piece of mar- 



10 EVERY-DAY LIFE. 

ble I sent to him yesterday. Tell him not to work wlien he 
does 'nt feel strong and \vell. [Gives them the model. 

[Exeunt Boy and Girl. 
Kitty. Mr. Fox has called. 

Enter Fox, and eyts the Girl curioudy. 

Fox. [Asidt'\. Eh, what ! hope I hav'nt spoiled a tete-a-tete. 
Rather young looking to be sure. Fruit ripens early in Italy, 
they sa} . Ah ! my bo}', I've caught you at last. ^Yhere liave 
you been hiding for days and days ? I'm sure I've called a 
dozen times. 

Car. Not hiding, I assure you ; but attending to a little busi- 
ness down town. 

Fox. Business ! Why, I thought 3"ou were a man of leisure. 
But let business go now, I've come to take you to our new Club. 
You will there find the best set of fellows in New York ; some of 
them, like myself, }'our old school acquaintance. 

Car. Excuse me, but I cannot join )^ou. 

Fox. Surely, you have not come home, after passing years in 
Europe, just to give yourself the satisfaction of cutting all your 
old acquaintance — in a lump ? 

Car. No, but I expect to be cut myself by the most of them, as 
they must know how changed are now m}' prospects in life. 

Fox. Nonsense, my dear fellow ; such suspicions do not become 
a man of your qualities. And let me tell 3'ou, that if you look so 
sourly on the world, the world will begin to look sourly on you ; 
and that wouldn't mend your case, you know. 

Car. That, however, is the way of the world. I confess I care 
but little for it, as I shall be left free to follow my own plans ; 
though I should be sorry to lose an old friend like you. 

Fox. How can it help your plans to keep yourself out of sight? 
You must be hatching some grand scheme for winning fame and 
fortune. I remember, you used to be aspiring. 

Car. My aspirations are now more moderate ; and the only 
scheme that has of late engrossed my thoughts has been to pro- 
vide for my landlady's weekly calls ; and that I have done 
by making a few drawings, or selling to the Broadway dealers a 
figure or two, such as you see here, and which I happened to bring 
home with me. A year ago, or more, while in Italy, I sent home 
a large collection of works of art, that I had been years in gather- 
ing — some of them copies of my own, and some originals by my 
artist friends ; "but since my return to New York, I have not been 
able to find them, or hear of their ever having arrived. If I 
had them now, they would be a little fortune to me in this time 
of need. 



EVERY-DAY LIFE. 



11 



Fox. Let 'em go, and don't bother yourself more about such 
things. {Picking up a statuette.] Why, I can tell you, ship-loads of 
such traps as these are brought over every month, and knocked 
off at auction at four and six shillings apiece. And the more time 
you spend about these trifles, the worse off you'll be. You'll live 
and die here like a toad in his hole. So, don't be foolish, but 
make a plunge into the stream of life, that 3'ou can see here every 
hour rushing by under your window. Come, I'll clear the way 
for you, if need be. 

Car. Your advice just agrees with what I've already done. 
I've now no more to do with art ; for, luckily, an old friend of my 
father's, a merchant in South street, Mr. Wise, has given me a 
place in his counting-room. 

Fox. What! you've become a merchant's clerk! I can't be- 
lieve that of you, Carroll. So, you expect, in time, I suppose, to 
become a merchant yourself — a dealer in molasses, turpentine, 
whisky, and all those delicate products we read about. And how 
many days of scratching at a desk, and how many shilling dinners 
will you have to eat, to transform yourself into one of our mer- 
chant princes ! 

Car. I only hope to make a living. 

Fox. Then you have chosen the most unlikely way a man 
born and educated a gentleman could hit upon to achieve so sim- 
ple an object. Any boy of sixteen, just out of the public schools, 
can distance you in that race. No, my friend, I know you ; you 
are fitted for something more refined. You are, by habit and in- 
stinct, an up-town man, and only spend your time to no purpose, 
trying to imitate the ways of a man of business. 

Car. You waste words ; I am resolved. 

Fox. Well, then, I'll say no more about it. But you shall not 
stay shut up here alone in this pigeon-hole. Y^'ou need society ; 
so come along with me. [Exeunt. 

SCENE lY.—Room in a CluJ) House. 

Members in groups., lounging., reading papers.^ d^c. At one loiadoiDi 
Dick Medlay, 1st and 2d Members, and Captain Blake. — 
At another window, Mr. Pike, reading. 

1st Member. I say, Dick, are you going to that great jam 
that's coming off at old Wise's down by the Battery. 

Dick. I might go, if I could find my way to the old fellow's 
house. Does he live over his store, and should we have to enter 
his festive apartments through rows of flour-barrels and soap- 
boxes ! That would be fun, after the stupid parties we have up 
here. Come, let's all go, just to wake 'em up a bit ! 

2d Member. No, my boy, go and behave yourself, if you can. 
There's a girl there, such as a bold, dashing fellow like you might 



12 EVERY-DAV LIFE. 

carry off, if 3-011 liked ! She's been kept out of i^iglit wliilc the 
old man has been piling up the dimes for her ! 

Dick. And now he's for giving her a shove into good society, 
to make her market ! 

Capt. Blake. They have been in good society for 3-ears — 
where such 3^oung squids as 3' ou, Dick, are scarce ! 

Dick. You know them, Captain ? 

Capt. B. Her father is an owner in m3' clipper, the Altliea ; 
I've seen the girl often, and she isn't built of crinoline, I'll be 
bound. I met her and her governor to-dav", horsebacking it over 
in Jersey, and her nag made the gravel fly. 

Dick. She's a little fast, perhaps : I'll drive her out on the 
road, with that new team Pike wants to .>ell me. 

1st Mem. But I thought you were going to Europe in the 
next steamer? 

Dick. Egad, I forgot about that ! I bargained with the old 
gent, if he'd first give me a 3'ear in Paris, after tiiat I'd come 
home and marry, and settle down. Here's the bill for four thou- 
sand francs he gave me to start upon : but I'll give it to Pike — it 
will just about pay him for the cattle. Here Pike ! 

[Pike comes forwcurd. 

Pike. Mr. Medlay ! 

Dick. Here, take this ; that turn-out's mine ! 

\Givt8 paper to Pike. 

Pike. (Reading) Four thousand francs, 1st of exchange, um 
— ^um — &c., [speaking to himself.] Fifty dollars more than I asked 
him. 

Capt. B. But, Dick, a pair of fast horses won't quite do 3'our 
business with her. 

Dick. Old Fox was telling me only 3^esterda}' to bu3' 'em. 
That I must keep horses if I wanted to get ahead with the women ! 
He saj's the girls think a deal more of a man if he has a horse or 
two. 

Capt. B. To get ahead with her 3'ou 11 have to talk — talk 
sense too, or she'll stop 3' our rattle the first go off. 

Dick. Oh, she's one of the strong-minded sort — cultivates her 
intellect a bit ! Well, I can come the intellectual dodge, too, for 
a short turn : I made a couple of conundrums onl v 3-esterda}^ ! 

1st and 2d Mems. Conundrums! let's hear them? 

Dick. Wh3^ is the scenery in North Carolina like the scenery 
in Switzerland ? 

1st Mem. Because it's green ! 

2d Me-M. Because I never saw either, and never expect to. 

Capt. B. Give it up. 

Dick. Becau-^e it's All-pine ! 

1st. Mem. Good — capital — now give us the other. 



EVERY-DAY LIFE. 13 

Dick. Why does the speaking automaton now exhibiting on 
Broadway speak as well as a certain very popular orator ? 
2d Mem. We give it up all 'round. 
Dick. Because it speaks as well as Eve?' it can. 
1st Mem. Go in and win, Dick ; you are sure to do it. 

Ente?' Fox and Carroll. 

Dick. Hallo, daddy, you're just in time. I want your pater- 
nal counsels. [Dick and Fox converse upart. 

Capt. B. I say, Carroll, are you going with me round the 
Horn ; my clipper sails in a day or two. Just the trip for a man 
like you, who does'nt know what to do with himself. 
Car. Fortunately, I am no longer in that position. 
Fox. Yes, would you believe it, our friend here, has slipped 
himself into the oddest kind of a hole, for an accomplished man, 
like him. He has just apprenticed himself to a South street 
merchant. 

1st Mem. What absurdity. 
2d Mem. Lunacy. 

Dick. Suicide, I should say. [Converses icith Carroll. 

Fox. [Apart to Pike.] I want a couple hundred. 
Pike. Here's five. 

Fox. Eh, what ! you haven't been imprudent — hitting 'em too 
hard, have you ? 

Pike. No ; your friend, Medlay, has just paid me for the 
horses. 
Fox. All right. Did you see who I brought with me ? 
Pike. Yes ; will he crook his elbow ? 

Fox. No ; he's poor as a schoolmaster, but devilish full of lit- 
erature, fine arts, and all that sort o' thing. Make a capital de- 
coy duck for us, if I can bring him into it. He don't know any 
thing about our business, and that's so much the better for us. 
But we must have anothei* hand, to stand between you and me. 
You have been a little too hard, lately, on some of my young 
friends, that I have introduced to the Club. 

Pike. I'm gentle with 'em, only fifty or a hundred at a time. 
Small profits and steady business, I find, pays best. 

Fox. But you cleaned out that rich planter's son, for he came 
only yesterday to borrow of me. 

Pike, He was a tough one and I had to hit him hard in self- 
defense. He begged of me not to let his father's friend, Mr. 
Fox, hear of it. 

Fox. Remember, this is a club where no gambling is allowed, 
you're not " feeding the Tiger," down town. Be cautious or 
you'll blow us and the whole club to the devil. 

[Fox and Pikk go up conversing. 
9 



14 EVERY-DAY LIFE. 

Dick. [To Carroll.] I wish I was in Paris now. The old gent 
wouldn't get me home again 'till I'd hud a chance to see some of 
its mysterie.-^. 

Car. Your expectations might not be realized. Many come 
home and tell their friends how much they have enjoyed, merely 
to conceal their disappointment, because they went unprepared. 

Dick. I wouldn't be disappointed, I know. In Paris, with 
plenty of money, a young fellow like me can live just as he 
pleases. Pd take apartments near the ^ladeline. Pd have one 
parlor on "«% second^''' then another parlor and sleeping room, 
^^mt sisieme,^^ dine out on the balcony at the top of the house, 
avec une Jolie deraoiselle, pour vis-a-vis, where we could look down 
and see all the world rolling along the Boulevard, right under us. 
I've been reading, you see, I'm prepared for foreign travel. 

Car. Admirably prepared ! 

Dick. Come, boys, let's go in and have some supper. 

1st a/id. 2xD Mem. Come on; Pike must pay the wine on his 
horse trade. [Exeunt all but Carroll and Capt. B. 

Car. Blake, you and Fox are the only old acquaintance that I 
have seen since I returned to New York. 

Capt. B. And I must tell you I don't like Fox any better now 
than [ did years ago at school. He was trickey then and may be 
now, for I don't see how he lives so well, and does nothing at all. 

Car. He inherited something. 

Capt. B. But a few thousands, yet he must spend the interest 
of a hundred thousand. 

Car. Oh, we should not call upon the man to answer for the 
faults of the bo3^ I for one should not like to have all the non- 
sense I was guilty of at fifteen, remembered now. [Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

SCENE I. — Wise's Counting House, same as Scene 2, Act 1. 

Carroll discovered at his desk, l. and Wise standing with Seeley 

at his desk. 

Wise. [Croy.sii<g to Carroll with papers.] Mr. Carroll, here are 
three notes, all coming due in a few days ; you can collect them 
as flist as you need money to pay expenses on the new house. 
Be cautious now. and let no one suspect the house belongs to me. 

[Wise Ia//s uo^es o:i Cariiol's desk and going out meets Fox and 
]Mi:dla V just entering.^ 

Fox. Is this ]\Ir. Solomon's place, sir ? 

WiSK. Solom )n> ? Xo, there's no sucli person here. 

[Exit Wise foUowed by Fov and Medlay. 



EVERY-DAY LIFE. 15 

Re-enter Fox. 

Fox. Has the old buffer gone ? 

Dick. Yes, he's oif half a block. [Withotit. 

Fox. I sa}", Carroll, how are you getting on here ? IIow are 
sugar.' this morning ? 

Re-enter Medlay. 

Dick. Got any gunny bags on hand ? 

Seeley. We have an invoice to arrive in a few days. 

Dick. You be d d. 

Car, What mischievous spirit has sent these triflers down here 
at this time. [Aside. 

Fox. Here's where you operate, eh ? Come go on with your 
work, don't mind us ; your boss may not like it if you lose your 
time. Time's money you know. 

Dick. What an infernal smell comes in at this window, do 3'ou 
have it so all the time ? Those nasty looking barrels o»t there ; 
do they belong to your stock ? 

Fox. They'll bring clean money, won't they Carroll ? 

Medlay. [Reading paper tacked iip over Seeley's desk.'\ " Call 
upon a man of business in business hours, transact your business, 
then go about your business, and leave him to attend to his 
business." 

Fox. That's the talk. [Taldvg parcel f/om his pod. et.] See here, 
Carroll, I've got a present for you — useful one, too, you'll say, 
when you see it. I bought it just now as we came down Fulton 
street. [ Unfolls and displays Tweed sack or jacket.] Look here, a 
" business coat." 

Car. Thank you, thank you ; just what I am in need of. 

[Reaches fonoard to take it. 

Fox. [Handiitg it to Medlay.] Put it on Dick; let our friend 
gee how very becoming it is for a gentleman. [Medlay puts on 
coat, goes to Seeley's desk, pu^s pet/- behind his ear, then straightens 
himself up and stands icorking his ankle-joints, and slapping his 
hands, one closed inside the other, open (dternately, as though talking 
to a customer; then takes pen from ear, goes to Seeley's desk, flour- 
ishes it over hooks, ^c, ^ ■. [more tLrico], Capital, Dick, you'd 
better advertise for a situation. 

Car. Such foolery will never do here. [Aside]. I must get 
them away instantly. Are you walking up town; I have to go 
that way. 

Fox. Yes; its half-past twelve, and must be about your dinner 
time. Come Dick, let's go and dine with our bu^^^iness friend. 

Dick. Dine! why! I've but just had my breakfast. 

Fox. Never mind, I dare say Carroll knows some nice place 
near by. Beefsteak pie, one shilling ; bread pudding, sixpence. 



16 EVERY-DAY LIFE. 

Always be sure and have plenty of small change, Carroll, so as 
to do 'em out of three quarters of a cent. 

Car. I'll be with you in a moment. [Exit, r. u. e. 

Fox. [Seats himself at Carroll's desk, sees the notes lying there 
which Wise had just given into Carroll's chfirge. Aside.] What ! 
hallo ! Lying 'round rather loose. [Sli/li/ moves them so as not to 
be observed hy Seeley and other clerks. Reads.] Six thousand dol- 
lars — four months after date — value received, due 17th, 20th, 
Seymour & Brothers. [Reads another.] Thirty-six hundred dollars. 
Ninety days — pay to order, Peter Wise ; due 25th, 28th ; Thomp- 
son, Arnold & Co. [Reads the other.] Fifty-four hundred and 
twenty-nine dollars, to our own order, due 10th, 13th; Rogers & 
Armstrong. [Speaking.] Those are all good names. No harm 
just to recollect them. [Takes out memorandur/i hook and. writes.] 
A copy or two would go well enough in Wall street, where the 
brokers have lots of just such looking pieces of paper, tied up in 
bundles like kindling wood. [While Fox has busitd himself copy- 
ing the notes, ^c, Medlay has been sitting on the high stool at Mr. 
Seeley's desk, lutndling and inspecting the little conveniences for 
writing, d^c. Finally Medlay discovers that lie has inked his gloves, 
takes them off and throios them on the floor in disgust, then continues 
rocking himself to and fro, on the high office stool, holding on icitli one 
hand to the desk; the stool cracks; he loses his balance, upsets desk, 
loith books, ink, ^c, <^c., all tumble on the floor together and make_ 
great confusion. Fox, 'pocketing his memorandv.m book.] What the 
deuce are you doing there, you mischievous monkey ? 

Enter Carroll hastily, with hat and overcoa.t on, crosses without 
perceiving vjhat has occurred, goes to his desk and takes the notes. 

Car. We'll go now, if you are ready. 

[Exeunt Fox and Carroll. Dick jndls off' business coat, throws it 
over Seeley's head and exits.] 

Seeley. [Coming forward surrounded hy (jI.-er'k.'&, picks vp ledger 
blotted, <^c.] Twelve years without a blot or erasure on my books. 

[The counting room generally in the greatest corfusion. Enter Wise. 
Tableau. Curtain, falls.] 

SCENE II. — All Auction Room. 

Auction sale of loorks of art discoverd. — Auctioneer and crowd. — 
Among the croicd, Wise, Lizzie, Mrs. Phipps, Samuel and 
Wait. 

Auctioneer. The next lot. No. 64, and last on the catalogue, 
' Ariadne on Panther," — a delicate little copy, as you may see. 



EVERY-DAY LIFE. 17 

How much is bid ? One hundred do I hear ? One hundred is 
bid. Ten — twentj- — thirty — forty — f(.>rty-five ! — Ladies and gen- 
tlemen — I haven't for years had the selling of so choice a collec- 
tion. One hundred and fifty is offered — do I hear ^ixty ? Tiiis 
is no stone-cutter's work ! Sixty is bid — give me seventy. Please 
bear in mind, these are unclaimed goods from tiie Bonded Ware- 
house, which I am selling by order of the United States Treasury 
Department, and every lot goes to the highest bidder, no reserve. 
One hundred and sixty is bid. Seventy — shall I have it ? Thank 
you, sir ! Seventy — seventy — seventy ! Going at ono hundred 
and seventy ! 

Eater Fox and Carroll. 

Car. [Looking around surprise'L] By all that's magical ! here 
are my long lost pictures and marbles before my eyes ! How 
came they here ? [Aside. 

Auc. [Turning to Carroll.] One hundred and eighty is bid for 
" Ariadne on Panther," a beautiful statuette in the finest marble. 
Give me eighty, sir. 

[Fox leaves Carroll and goes to Mrs. Phipps. — Carroll goes up 
and speaks to Auctioneer, kIw leaves his stoMd^ and both come to 
front. 

Car. You have sold all those things, do you say ? 

Auc. Of course I've sold them. 

Car. Why, they are mine — they belong to me ! Did you hap- 
pen to notice any name on that piece you just had hold of? 

Auc. Yes, Carroll. That name is on most of them. 

Car. That is my name. I am the owner — and you've sold them, 
do you say ? 

Aug. Yes, and sold them devilish well, too, for cash. They 
will foot up eight thousand dollars, and over, net. And all I've 
time to sa}^ to you is, that if j'ou can prove that they are 
your property, you can have 3'our money for them by to-morrow 
at twelve. [Returns to stand.] One hundred and eighty was the 
last bid : are you all done ? One hundred and eighty — once ! 
One hundred and eighty, twice ! — gone at one hundred and eigh- 
ty. Who's the buyer ? 

[Carroll stands apart from crovxl aI)sorhed in thought. — The eroded 
separate a little; some icalk about looking at paintings; others go 
to cashiev^s desk to settle^ Wise among them. 

Wise. My account, if yon please. 
Cashier. Ready in a few moments, sir. 

[Lizzie leaves her father^ and goes about looking at pictures^ d^c, by 
herself. — Mrs. Phipps, Samuel and Wait stand together. 



18 EVERY-DAY LIFE. 

Mrs. p. Samuel, are 3'ou asleep ? you never see your opportu- 
nities. There she is, alone by herself. [Samuel le<ives group and 
goes to Lizzie.] Mr. Fox, I must thank a'ou again for your kind- 
ness in advising me to have this excellent man to attend upon me. 
It was so thoughtful, so considerate in you. 

Fox. Oh ! you mean Wait, there, the policeman. You find him 
useful ? 

Mrs. p. Indeed he is ! Sinee my poor husband died, I have 
never, till now, enjoyed such a feeling of security. Mr. Wail is 
always anticipating my wishes ; and it's surprising how much he 
knows — everybody and every place seems familiar to him. 

Fox. Original idea that — for a widow to hire a special police- 
man to do the drudgery of a deceased husband. {A^i'h.\ Yes, 
Wait is a very trustworthy man ; I knew that when I recom- 
mended him to you. 

Mrs. p. But you, sir, know nothing of the married state. There 
are feelings that none but a beloved husband can share. There is 
a sweet society to be enjoyed only by those who assume the sa- 
cred responsibilities of wedlock. {She spies Carroll, and^ leaving 
Fox, advances a fev: steps to reco,inoHre him. 

Fox. [Aside.'] The widow is mine ! [To Wait.] You are a 
lucky dog to be living at free quarters in that lady's house, instead 
of kicking your heels, these frosty nights, on the pavement, down 
in Water street. 

Wait. I'm about tired on't, tlioagh ; the work ain't suited to 
my constitution. Have to go three-quarters of a mile for a chaw 
or a smoke ; and then, we've so many evening meetings to follow 
up, it's a mercy we haven't been garroted. I want to resign — 
resign to you, sir. 

Fox. Resign to me ! — You impudent Paddy, wha,t do you 
mean ? 

Wait. Oh, sir, you are a f(jrtunate gentleman, if you only knew 
it. She's always praising Mr. Fox, his benevolence, his polished 
manner, his dignified air, and his fine appearance. 

Fox. Nonsense ! Irish blarney ! [Aside.l I'll marry that block 
of houses, and ride to church in that carriage before next Lent 
comes. 

Mrs. p. Mr. Wait, I wish you to watch that young man. 
[Pointing to Carroll.] Find out where he lives. 

(Wait leaves Fox, and placts himself conveniently for observing 
Carroll. — Mrs. Phipps and Fox turn ojf to look at paintings, 
^c. — 5^^^ Mrs. Phipps watches Lizzie, v ho appears annoyed by 
Samuel's attendance. — In moving cCoout, she discovers Car- 
roll. 

Lizzie. There is my old teacher! [7'^ Carroll.] How fortu- 
nate that you are here. I want your judgment. M}' father has 



EVERY-DAY LIFE. 19 

just been buying the greatest quantity of these things, that he 
knows nothing of. 

Car. It is too late, then, to criticise them. 

Lizzie. But, pray sir, have you been out of town? You have 
not been ill, I trust, the reason of your not coming to give my 
lessons, as usual. 

Car. The last l&sson was the twelfth, I think. 

Lizzie. Possibly, it may have been, sir. [DeprecatinffJy.] I am 
sure I never counted them. But 3'ou may, perhaps, think that 
your time is thrown away on so unpromising a pupil. 

Car. You compel me to say that while I had such a pupil, I 
almost forgot the hard fortune that made me a teacher of drawing. 
But now I can give no more lessons ; my time is occupied with a 
very different business during the whole of every day. 

Lizzie. You certainly can sometimes spare an evening. We 
are to have some friends at our house next week, and we should 
be glad to see you there. Here is a card. 

Wise. Come, my daughter, we will go now. 

[Exev/iit Wise and Lizzie. 

Mrs. p. Are you going up town, Mr. Fox ? My carriage is at 
the door. 

Fox. [Aside.\ Our carriage. She must learn to say "our car- 
riage" before many weeks. {Exeunt. 

SCENE IIL— Carroll's Lodgings 

Enter Kitty, who hustles ahout arranging things, foUoiced hy Mrs* 
Phipps, Samuel and Wait, icho enter ^ and stand just inside the 
door, looking ahout. 

KiTTY". Mistress is gone out, but I can show the rooms and tel 
you the prices just the same as herself. 

Mrs. p. I wish to hire a nice room for this young gentleman, 
who is a student. A room like this would do. Dear me ! I am 
all out of breath coming up those stairs. I must sit down. 

[Advances to center of stage. 

Kitty. You can set here as long as 3'ou please, marm ; the gen- 
tleman who has this room hard!}" ever comes home before dark. 

Mrs. p. This room is let, then? 

Kitty. The next apartment to this is just exactly like this one. 
That window up there is to give air and ligjit to the bed-room. 
This is Mr. Carroll's room. 

Mrs. p. [Aside.] This is his room — Carroll's very room ; and 
from that window Samuel could watch all his secret w^ays and 
artful doing.-. How providential ! 

Eide/- Fox. 
Fox. I saw your carriage at the door, and came up. 



20 



EVERY-DAY LIFE. 



Mrs. p. I am glad joa did. Samuel, go and look at those 
rooms, and see if they vriW do for j'ou to study in. [Exeunt Sam- 
uel, Wait and Kitty.] Do you know much of this man Carroll ? 

Fox. Very little. Recollect "being at the same school with 
him, and have seen him once or twice since his return from 
Europe. 

Mrs. p. Sir, I need some one to confide in ; some friend to 
whom I can speak about my private atfairs. 

Fox. [Moves a chair near her and sits down.] It would gratify 
the sincerest wish of my heart, if I could be of service to a lady 
for whom I have learned to feel the greatest respect. 

Mrs. p. You never knew my poor dear deceased husband. He 
was a plain man, but very exemplary ; busy from morning till 
night. [Subbing.] But he left me well off. [S,M.] Though he was 
a plain man, to be sure, he left me well off, [sobs,] verv well off. 

[Sobs. 

Fox. [Repeating to himself, irith an ironical grimace — mocking 
her.] He left her well off, very well off. 

Mrs. p. But then I feel that I am but the stewardess of hea- 
ven's bounty. 

Fox. ]Madam — Mrs. Pliipps — my dear INIrs. Pliipps — your 
words reproach me with a sense of my own useless and selfish 
life. The undeserved bounty that heaven has showered upon me, 
too, I have used only for my own comfort and ease ; and never, 
until lately, have I been pricked with a sense that I, too, was a 
steward in trust of riches for the use of my less fortunate fellow 
creatures. But my life is solitaiy. [Takes her hand.] I feel that I 
am living without the sphere of human sympathy — that so long 
as I live on thus, I can never know the truest, [puts his arm 
around her tcaist,] because it is the most natural source of happi- 
ness in life. If you, madam, whom I have long esteemed as a 
most dignified lady — as the most noble and generous of women — 
would but consent to accept the oflering of my heart, [kneels,] you 
will find it capable of all tlie warmest and purest social affections. 
[Wait and Samuel appear at window and witness. 

Mrs. p. Sir, before I answer you, you must give me a few days 
to examine my own heart. But even now I feel that I can con- 
fide in you as in the nearest and dearest friend I could have. I 
must tell you what oppresses me with a load of anxiety. This 
Carroll has, I fear, interested the affections of a lad}' friend of 
mine. She is an inexperienced girl, and he is a person in no regu- 
lar business and without means— an adventurer ; moreover. Wait 
has discovered that he is a profligate — that lie disguises himself in 
old clothes, and frequents the lowest haunts of vice. I wi<h you 
to aid me in unveiling his true character, and save my dear young 
friend from her miserable delusion. I must further tell you, that 
amongmy deceased husband's papers, were found some notes, or 



EVERY-DAY LIFE. 21 

bills of exchange, amounting to upwards of three thousand dollars, 
drawn by this same young man, while in Europe, on his father 
here ; but coming in after his father's bankruptcy, were never 
paid. 

Fox. Give your>elf no further trouble about him, mj^ dear 
Clarissa, but leave him to me. It won't be a hard matter to 
place a trifling fellow like him where he belongs. 

Enter Kitty. 

Kitty. The gentlemen are waiting for you in the parlor below. 

Mrs. p. Come, Henry, we have talked long enough in this 
place. Let us go where we cannot be intruded upon. Let us go 
home. [Mrs. Phipps speaks to Kitty and gives her money. 

Fox. Home ! yes, home, home ! I now begin to feel the beau- 
ty, the poetry of that familiar monosyllable. How much it sug- 
gests ! [Ex.eunt Mrs. Phipps a,iid Fox. 

Enter Wait. 

Kitty. What, you here yet ? Why ain't you gone with the 
rest of 'em ? 

Wait. Why, I staid. Miss Kitty, to — to — ask if you had any 
more vacant rooms in the house. Perhaps you've got one that 
would suit me. 

Kitty. Suit you, indeed ! Humph ! we've all sorts of people 
in this house, to be sure. Lawyers, doctors, artists, opera singers, 
sportsmen, travellers, and now we've just taken in a young parson, 
I s'pose. But I don't think we've any accommodations for gen- 
tlemen in your line. 

Wait. My line ! . Young woman, what do you mean 1 

Kitty. Yes, your line. [Going up to Wait quickly.^ she thrusts 
her hand into the outside breast-pocket of his overcoat, and pulls out a 
policeman^s badge and chain, holding it ^ip.'] Think I can't tell ? 
Why, any Broadway stage-horse can tell a policeman a mile off. 

Wait, Kitty ! 

Kitty. Catherine, sir — Miss Broom — Miss Catherine Broom, if 
you please. 

Wait. Well, Miss Catherine, I was about saying that ye keep 
things hero looking mighty neat. But perhaps you take extra 
pains with Mr. Carroll's room ? 

Kitty. Perhaps I do, and then again, perhaps I don't ; it's 
none of your business either way. I wish all our lodgers were 
quiet, civil people like him. 

Wait. He's a bit fast, though, if he is quiet; goes some among 
the fanc}", too, I reckon. See here, he's got a likeness of Bill 
Poole, after he was shot, with his clothes off. [Takes up statuette, 
and reads.] " Dying Gladiator." But the women are what he 



22 



EVERY-DAY LIFE. 



most cares f )r. Perhaps be hasn't made love to j'ou yet ; but 
yonr turn '11 come. He just keeps a lot of 'era v^n the strhig, so 
he can take 'em in rotation. 

Kitty. I don't believe a word of all you're saying about him. 
Mr. Carroll's no such man. 

Wait. Well, tlien, I'll just call over his sweethearts to 3-ou. 
First, there's a beautiful young lady, living way down town, all 
alone, with her rich old pa. 

Kitty. [Going to portfolio^ taking out profile draicing of a Jadi/s 
hertAh] Does she look like that ? 

Wait. That's her very self. 

Kitty. What did you say her name was ? 

Wait. T didn't say. But I'll just let you a little into the 
secret, Kitt\\ These folks that are just gone away from here, are 
that young lady's friends ; and the}^ want to cure her liking for 
this gentleman, (Vye see ? and so, when we get everything fixed, 
we're going to show him up to her father, just what a loose fish 
he is. Now, Kitty, you are a respectable young woman, and you 
ought to help us. 

Kitty. [Axi'/e.] Yes, I'll have a finger in this pie. I see it all; 
Mr. Carroll's poor, perhaps, and the young ladj-'s rich ; and this 
old woman, that's just come and gone, wants to get the lady for 
some other young man — this cub of a parson, likely as not. But 
I'll have a finger in the pie ; I'll find out who this young lady is, 
and if she's good as she looks, it won't be my fault if she don't 
get the man s',e likes best. [To Wait.] So you think I can help 
you, and maybe I will. If us chambermaids haven't a chance to 
see just what a man is, then nobody has. 

Wait. But say, Kitty, ye don't, all your life, mean to stay a 
chambermaid sure, forever. Ye'll be married some day to some 
tall, fine looking boy that '11 love ye, and won't let ye work so 
hard either, Kitty. 

Kitty. I ain't afeard o' hard work, and do you think I'd 
marry just to live way up at the top of a dirty old rear building, 
and where I have to travel all the way down to the yard, for 
half a bucket o' water, and then to run out and buy stale cab- 
bages and frosted potatoes out of a donkey-cart, and then, again, 
to the grocers for a penny's worth o' milk, and then with an old 
plate to fetch a pound of last week's beef from the butcher's 
shop — my man, the wliile, loafing at tlie porter-house, hard by. 

Wait. And the darling little childers, too, i-unning wild in the 
nasty streets, and a sitting down right on the dirty stones, in all 
the nice clothes their dear sweet mother has put on 'em, all 
clane. 

Kitty. No, no ! that's not the living for me. But hark, and 
I'll tell you the thing I'd like. Just a little farm 'way off in the 



EVERY-DAY LIFE. 23 

conntry, where we would see the great waving trees and a ring 
of bhie hills all round us. 

Wait. Ah ! faith, Kitty, and ye'll have been reading some 
book. 

Kitty. Then I'd have a little garden on one side, and a 
smooth green yard in front, with a clear little brook jumping 
along tlirough the grass. Then, early in the morning, soon as 
ever the great, large, golden sun was up, I'd be out doors, and 
the chickens, and the ducks, and the young turkeys, they'd all 
come flocking clo>e under me feet [ga/hers- vp her opron and imi- 
tatts the scatterinri of vorit]. Then, soon as ever I went into the 
pasture, the lambs and the calf, and the young colt 'd come skip- 
ping and ruiming up to me, and follow me all about, as if I was 
Goodness, her own eelf. 

Wait. And the little boy ye'd be leading by the hand, with 
his little legs just long enough to toddle on over the stones and 
hobbles with his dear sweet mother. But Kitty sure, you've 
the gift o' second sisht. For isn't it a snug little spot o' me 
own, way up in Jersey, that je've just been picturing out 
[sJiakef< her heaii]. You don't believe it ? and isn't my ould mither 
a' living there all alone by herself, witli me young britlier ; and 
is'nt she iver a saying to me to come home there and sta}', and 
bring a tidy lass with me ! and won't T come next Sunday in a 
horse and wagon, and bring all the deeds and rocates to show 3'e, 
and then take ye out to see it all ? 

Kittv. I'll never get me morning's work done if I stand here 
harking to your deceiving tongue. [Bustles about a little, then exit^ 
followed by Wait. 

SCENE lY. — A fashionable street or Avenue vp town. — Viev) of a 

small chapel. 

Elder Fox. 

Fox. I see the widow's carriage a little way up the street, 
the horses headed this way. I'll walk on slowly. There's that 
polite rascal, Pike, coming on the other side the way. I wonder 
what he's doing out of doors so early in the day — it isn't twelve 
o'clock yet. Ten thousand devils ! he is crossing over as though 
he meant to speak to me. This is the widow's new chapel — I'll 
be looking at it. 

Enter Pike. 

Pike. Good morning, Mr. Fox.' 

Fox. [Continuing to gaze at chapel\. You have forgotten my 
caution to you, never to recognize me in public. 

Pike. That was all very well, as long as our partnership last- 
ed. But I've made up my mind to retire from the profession. 



24 EVERY-DAY LIFE. 

My pile '11 never be much larger, and may get smaller if I keep 
on. 

Fox. Well, well, retire from the profession if you like, but 
don't stand talking to me here. Go on about your business. 

Pike. My business is with you, just now ; and as we don't see 
much of you at tl«ie club lately, I shan't have a better chance to 
say what I want to say. And I'll come to the point at once — I've 
resolved to marry and settle down. 

Fox. Who the devil hinders you ? — I don't [still gazinj at 
clio/pel.] ^ 

Pike. No, but I want you to help me. I've been for so many 
years engrossed by the cares of my arduous profession that now 
I've begun to think of marrying, I find one little difficulty in 
my way. I havn't the acquaintance of a single respectable 
woman in New York. So you must introduce me to one or two 
families among the upper ten, where I can spread myself, and 
carry off some stylish piece that'll set me off in the world. All 
I want is just an introduction. I can go it alone after that. 

Fox. Introduce you to the society of ladies ! What sort of a 
figure do you suppose you'd make there 1 

Pike. My figure and face too, are good enough to serve my 
turn. I can distance any of those spooney young gents, such as 
I see on the track, only give me a fair start. 

Fox. Pike, I never till this moment discovered that you were 
a fool. I always thought that you were a shrewd, sensible sort 
of a man, in your way. But you'd better stick to that circle of 
female acquaintance where you have been accustomed to shine, 
and where the ladies are doubtless already familiar with your 
fine figure. 

Pike. I never notice insults while I'm talking of business. I 
am as you say, friend Fox, rather sensible, rather shrewd than 
otherwise — in my way. Pray, have you read the papers this 
m.orning. [Takes nni'spaper from pocket and reads.] "Forger}' — 
yesterday afternoon after bank hours, forged paper to a consider- 
able amount was brought to light. The forgeries are copies of 
genuine notes held by an eminent merchant in South st. No 
clue has j-et been got of the perpetrator." 

Fox. What's that to me ? I'm not an eminent merchant, nor 
a note shaver. 

Pike. No clue yet do you hear ? You seem to admire the 
architecture of that church very much ; but there's stone work 
up at Sing-Sing, that'll beat that all to the devil. No clue 3-et 
to the perpetrator, but I've just been down town and had a look 
at the forged paper, and there's a crook or two in some of the 
letters that I've seen before. There's a lady coining down the 
street, you may wish to speak with ; she'll be here in three 
minutes. Speak quick, say if you'll do what I ask? 



EVERY-»AY LIFE. 25 

Fox. Agreed. I'll introduce you. I know a dashing girl 
that'll just suit you. [A.^ide.] Her father's a rotten old hulk 
though he does live on the Avenue. [To Pike.J She's fashionable 
as an Empress, with accomplishments to match. [Aside.] And 
would marry the devil's own cashier, if he'd pay her bills. 

Pike. Good, I'm off. 

Fox. Stay. I rather you would. Pretend you are an architect 
and we are observing this new church. 

Filter Mrs. Phipps, Samuel and Wa"it. 

Fox. [Aside.] There's not an hour to lose. Carroll must be 
dished and got off out of town, or I shall be done for m^'seif. [To 
Mrs. p.] Clarissa, this gentleman here tells me he is an architect 
and he says your chapel is a perfect gem of the art. 

Mrs. p. Oh, but sir, my mind at this moment is more than 
ever filled with anxiet}^ for the welfare of that dear girl, since I 
learned from you that that designing fellow, Carroll, had even ob- 
tained employment in her father's office. Some thing must be 
done at once to expose him and end that affair. 

Fox. You mentioned that Carroll was indebted to your hus- 
band's estate ? 

Mrs. p. Yes, and I know he won't and can't pay. But I 
told Wait to give them to some sharp lawyer who'd follow him 
up, for that'll help, with other tilings, to show what a poor sort 
of a fellow he is. 

Wait. I took them to one I know in Leonard street, Mr. Sue- 
'em-quick. 

Fox. I'll go and see him. [lakes out memorandum hook.] What 
do you say is his name — how is it spelled ? 

Wait. His name is Sue-'em-quick. Su-u-m-c-u-i-q-u-e ; you'll 
see it up over his office door. 

Fox. Oh ! ho ! ''Saum CuiqueV I'll find him. 

[Fox and Mrs. P. converse apart. Pike has been talking with 
Samuel looking at chapel.] 

Pike. [To Samuel.] Why didn't they make more windows? 
It must be a cussed dark hole inside. That door way is too low, 
a devilish deal, for my taste. Looks like the entrance to a lager 
bi«r cellar, or an underground horse stable. 

Samuel [shocked]. A very improper person to be entrusted 
with ecclesiastical architecture. 

[Leaves Pike, and joins Mrs. P. and Fox. 

Mrs. p. You have never seen the interior, [to Fox.] Let us 
go in. [Exeunt Mrs. P., Fox and Samuel]. 

Wa[t. Wiiy, Pike, its an age since I've seen you. Given up 
the profession? Retired rich, I suppose. You've got into tip-top 
company here with Mr. Fox and his set. 



26 EVEKY-1>AV LIFK. 

Pike. A cussed dull set, too, I call it. Wait, here's some- 
thing for old acquaintance. [Give,"! him money.] Perhaps Pve a 
little job in your way. Let's walk a few steps round the corner. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Carroll's loiiyings. 

Enter Carroll, holding papers. 

Car. Now, heaven is smiling upon me. The hours and days, 
aye, years, that I gave to art, have not been time lost. Mine have 
been no idle amusements, for they have brought me wealth in 
the hour of sorest need. Yesterday I was almost a beggar — to- 
day no man in New York feels richer than I. Pve six thousand 
dollars here in my hand, and it's mine. The auctioneer gave it to 
me, and it has made me a free man. But Pve found out 1 was 
not born an artist, and I can not make myself one, and I must no 
more please myself witli such day-dreaming. I've had one escape 
from poverty, and the lesson should make me a wi.ser man. I'll 
profit by it now, and never need another, when it may be too 
late. I'll work — I'll toil early and late. I'll learn to be a mer- 
chant. I've a rare chance now. My father's friend is my friend. 
Then some day I'll get a home of my own. Ah, my imagination 
is at work again ! foi- at my fireside it shows me the fair form and 
face of one who perhaps never thinks of me but as a poor 
drawing-master. I'll draw no more pictures in the air! I'll 
think only of the present — about plam matters of fact. Let me 
see ; I've paid the lawyer that has been plaguing me with my 
old drafts. Pve got rid of him. There are yet some little debts 
owing to my father's nurses, doctor, housekeeper and the like, 
that must be paid. After that I shall have left a snug little sum 
for my own. And while I have that, it will be a charm to guard 
me from the gnawing cares of poverty, which unnerves the man- 
hood of the soul as surely as poison prostrates our bodies. 
[K7iocking.] Come in. 

Enter Italian boy and girl. 

Girl. Buo?i gionio. Signer Carroll. 

Boy. Good morning, Mr. Carroll. 

Car. What news, this morning. 

Boy. My padre^ he have got most all well. He work very 
much, every all day ; he liave most finish piece marble for you. 

Car. Here is some money for him. 

Girl. No signor, ringratio, n'avemmo abastanza. 

Boy. We be not come for money. We have some you gave 
Oder day. [Girl pri/mpb' Uie botj from time to lime as he proceeds.] 
We come now to tell somelliing very nmch bad. Two good fine 
ladie> come see u< many times ; come always Monday 11 hours; 



EVERY-DAT LIFE. 27 

shall come next Monday. Some very bad lazzaroni men drink in 
shop down stairs, all time drink. [Girl walks about clasping her 
hands and appearing excited.^ I hear what dey say. I'se so little 
boy, dey no see me — dey tink I no understand Inglese. Ladies 
shall come next Monday, den lazzaroni men rob ladies — rob store 
man too — dey sliall do every all tings bad. 

Car. [AsideJ] There's some villainous plot on hand. I've seen 
those men there often. They are fit for any crime. {Aloud.] My 
young friends you have done well to come and tell me this. But 
have no fear ; it shall all be stopped. No one shall be harmed. 
[Samuel appears at windoio loatchiag .] I will be there in time. 
See here are the clothes I shall w^ear. [Taking old coat, hat, and 
neck-tie from loardrobe.'] See here are the clothes I shall wear, you 
will know me. Tell no one of it. 

Girl. We have tell no person; no, not our padre. 

Car. Very good ; go home now and keep silent. It's time for 
me to go now. [Exeunt Boy and G irl, folloiced hi/ Carroll. 

Samuel shuts toindow. Enter Kitty. 

Kitty. [Bustling about.] Well, I've done just as I said I 
would. I've got my finger into the pie, pretty deep, too ! I've 
been and found out this lady that Mr. Carroll has been drawing 
on paper, and working her likeness, too, in clay and plaster, for 
weeks gone. But I'll let the widow and her folks pull their 
wires, all just the same, and I'll stand where I can see what's go- 
ing on both sides, before and behind. [Sings.] 

Enter Wait. 

Wait. And here ye are, Kitty, working away just as hard as 
ever, and singing, too, the whilst, just as ef hard work made ye 
happy ! 

Kitty. But I'll not be long in this house. I'm going, may 
be, to live with a young lady who is like the gentlewomen we 
see in the old country. 

Wait. No, Kitty, no ; ye must come and live in the house ye 
know of, and that shall be ye'r own, and there ye must sing, and 
make the man that hears ye happy. See here. [Takes out a 
couple of sheets of street verses.] I just been and got old Jammie 
the verse-maker to make a song for us, and here it is, all printed 
out [gives one to her] ; ye'll learn it easy. 

SONG. 

My Kitty is a tid}^ lass, a tidy lass. 
She never sweeps the dust behind the door, 

&c., &c., &c. 

Enter Fox, Mrs. P. and Samuel. 

Mrs. p. [to Wait.] You know this young woman ? 



28 EVKRY-DAY LIFE. 

Wait. Yes, marm ; Kitty here, is helping; us. She can do 
more'n all of us, to watch our man here. 

Mrs. p. I can see by your face, Kitt}^, tliat you're an honest 
girl, and some day you'll want to leave this place, and then per- 
haps you'll like to come and live in my family. 

Wait [aside]. She may like better to come and live in my 
family. 

Mrs. p. Now, my good girl, I wish you to take good care of 
Mr. Samuel's rooms. Let him have plenty of well-aired linen, 
[gives her money]. [To Wait.] Tell her to go and keep watch 
of the street door, to make sure he won't come in while we are 
here. [Wait speaks to her, and Kitty exit. 

Fox. I can't understand how Carroll got hold of so much 
money, as to be able to pay off his debt to you. He certainly 
never came by it honestly. Perhaps we may learn something if 
we search his room. 

[Kitty' appears above, watching at bedroom windoic. Fox seats 
himself carelessly at writing-table, takes some loose papers from his 
pocket, and slyly throws them on the floor, under it. 

Mrs. p. Yes ; let Wait look among his papers. It's a duty 
we owe to society. 
[Wait begins his search.] Fox rises, and. goes loitering about. 

Samuel also goes nosing ahout. 

Fox. [Pushing open portfolio of dratcings -with end of his cane], 
You can judge by these things how depraved he is ; nothing but 
arms, and limbs, and naked figures. 

Mrs. p. They are too indecent — Pll see no more. [Fox pushes 
out crayon drawing of female head]. Oh, dear me, and right among 
them all, the likeness of my sweet young friend. 

[Fox leaves Mrs. P., and goes towards Wait, who, by this tim.e, has 
begun to examine tcriUng-table. Samuel opens wardrobe, pulls out 
old clothes. Mrs. P. looks at them.] 

Wait [to Fox.] The gentleman has been trying to improve 
his handwriting. 

Fox. You maj' as well keep them >afe ; they wont be missed. 
[^ WT pats papers in his pocket, and contintus search. 

Mrs. p. Look here, Henry ; here are the very old clothes he 
dresses himself in when he goes after those low creatures Wait 
has told me of. If it won't do an}'^ good to tell the foolish girl 
herself of his vile habits. 111 tell her father, and if T can, J'll get 
him here to see for himself ; and if possible, when that slip of an 
Italian girl is here. Then he'll know what sort of a clerk he has, 
and what sort of a lover his dauo-hter has. 



EVERY-DAY LIFE. 2^> 

Ente7' Kitty. 

Kitty. Quick, quick ! There's some one just come in at the 
hall door — it maj be Mr. Carroll. 

Mrs. p. Softly ; we can all go into Samuel's room. 

[Exeunt hurriedly, all hut Kitty — picks up paper^ <^c. 

Kitty. I've seen enough for this day, and so have they, too. 
I didn't want them to be pulling things about any longer, so just 
started 'em out. [Exit. 

ACT III. 

SCENE I. — A?i Evening Party at Wise's House. 

Crowd of Guests. — Among the Guests, Fox, Carroll, Medlay, 
Captain Blake, Mrs. Phipps, Samuel. — Music and dancing. — 
In front, quadrille. — Carroll lolth Lizzie for partner. — Wisi. 
standing loith grouj) of elderly Gentlemen, l. h. — Loud musix 
ceases. — Dancers separate. — Carroll shows Lizzie to seat, r. h. 
Captain Blake a7id Samvel join them. — Waltzing at hack o^' 
stage to loio, distant music. 

Wise. No, sir ; we can find out nothing ; we are yet as much 
in the dark as ever. And the mystery of the business is, the true 
notes have never been out of the hands of my clerk, Carroll, who 
has given them back to me. 

1st Gentleman. But are you sure of your clerk ? — is he 
true? 

Wise. Unquestionably. I've a great regard for him. I do not 
believe he has yet even heard that there has been any forgery. 
For I had some talk with him to-day. He is an open-hearted 
young man, with no inquisitiveness about him, knowing nothing:; 
that don't concern him, and I like him for that. 

2d Gent. Your clerk must be a sort of Know-Nothing : and 
they are sharp fellows and want watching — eh, Doctor ? 

3d Gent. [Doctor.] Yes, sir. Lucius Junius Brutus was thc^ 
great Know-Nothing of ancient times, and his simplicity overturn- 
ed the throne of the Tarquins, and set up the Roman Republic. 

Wise. Oh, Carroll's honest. I've no suspicion of him. 

Fox. I knew .him at school ; good fellow then — a little wild 
since, perhaps, but hardly capable of committing a crime. 

Lizzie. [Crossing to her father.] Do come with me a moment, 
papa; I want you to speak to my drawing teacher. 

Wise. [Aside.] What ! my clerk, Carroll !— how came he 
here ? [To Lizzie.] Is he here to-night ? 

Lizzie. Yes ; I invited him. His name is Carroll, and strangel 
enough, that name is on many of the beautiful things you bough l 



30 • KVKRY-DAY LIFE. 

the other day. And T half suspect he had something to do with 
making them : though I can't get him to own it. You must come 
and take some notice of him : he is a stranger, is poor, perhaps, 
and should have some encouragement. 

Wise. [Aisirie.] I suspect he is getting some encouragement. 
Not now, my child. I'll speak with him bye-and-bye. [Reiirrns 
to group of Gentlemen.] Come, gentlemen, go on down to sup- 
per. 

1st Gent. No, I always wait and go down with m}" host, when 
he happens to be an old India merchant like Wise, here. He 
knows the marks on the bottles that have sailed in his ships. 

Mrs. p. I was just saying that we, simple women, had now-a- 
days to mind our household affairs just the same as they did in 
old King Solomon's time. But you men have grown very wise and 
learned, to make steamships, rail-cars and telegraphs, and send 
them all over the world ; yet, you men don't see what is some- 
times going on in your own houses ; but we women can see tele- 
graphs working there, while ^-ou can't even see the wires. 

Wise. If we saw these wires, we might think it best to cut 
them. 

[Tha Guests tliiu out. — W\^k imns towards the place tchere Car- 
roll, is. — Carroll comes to Mm. 

Car. I did not know, until this moment, that it is to your 
house I was invited this evening. Our relations are such, that I 
should not have come without a direct invitation from you. 

Wise. I am aware how it happened, and, though I have a great 
regard for you, you probably see that it would interfere with the 
discipline of my counting-room to have the clerks visiting in my 
family. 

Car. I appreciate the foct, and will at once take my leave. 

Wise. No, } oung man, you must not go ; I am now your host ; 
I make no distinction among my guests ; all here are equals. I 
wish you to stay and share, with otliers, whatever enjoyment my 
house affords. So, do me the favor to go, with the rest, to the 
supper table. [The rooms lutvt become cleared. — Exit Carroll. 

Re-enter Fox. 

Fox. Sir, the forger of your name is a guest in your house to- 
night. I have no legal proof to give you, but if you ever discover 
him, you will find what I now tell you is true. A word is 
enough to put you on the right track, if you are disposed to take 
it. 

Wise. {Aside.'] I see he points to Carroll. [Takivg his hand.'] 
Tell your suspicions to no one, but leave me time to reflect if it 
can be so. [With eiitotion. 



EVERY-DAY LIFE. 31 

Fox. rt is my wish, as. perhaps, it may be yours, that the of- 
fender may be allowed to leave the countiy. 

WisR. We are agreed on that : let it be so. [Aside.] Yes, I'll 
make good all the losses — aye, sacritice double the amount, rather 
than the spirit of ray old friend should look down upon his erring 
son the tenant of a felon's cell. [To Fox.] T cannot conceal how 
much I am troubled by what you have told me. I must with- 
draw from the company. IMy absence will not be remarked. 

[Exit Wise. 

Fox. [Solus.] How beautifully everything works. Before I 
left the supper-room, the widow and her Samuel had dropped a 
word or two about the Italian girl and that old coat and hat : and 
people begun to look surprised, and steal side glances at the favor- 
ed stranger. And now I've sent the old gent himself off to bed. 
Why, I never till now knew half my own genius ! A tithe of my 
talent has made the fortune of prime ministers ere now. Demme, 
I could bamboozle a dozen eminent merchants, win forty rich 
widows, and floor a hundred Carrolls. Poor Carroll ! his gentle, 
sensitive spirit must sink befiare the magnetic power of a thous- 
and unfriendly eyes and scorning fingers. He will be glad enough 
to go off with his slushy friend, Captain Blake, there. 

[During Fox's soliloquy^ the stage has filled up loitli Guests return- 
iug from supper-room. — Blake stands, with others r. h. front. — 
Waltzing to loio music re-commences. 

Carroll enters hurriedly, and crosses to Blake. 

Car. Oh, captain, I must speak to some one — you are my 
friend ! I could weep like a woman. Tell me what has hap- 
pened ? Why am I so treated ? 

Blake. My dear fellow, I wish I could tell you. I saw some- 
thing strange, but could not find out what it meant. If any one 
has insulted you, Carroll, you can depend on me. My clipper 
shall lie tied to her dock a month rather than you should want a 
friend to second you. I remember 3'our pluck, my boy, at school, 
not" many years gone by, you can't have changed much 3^et. 

Car. No one has insulted me. But tlie ladies and old gentle- 
men and even the very servants have all joined to make me feel as 
though I was a contemptible intruder here in their company. 

Blake. I am a sailor and don't see enough of these fashionable 
fooleries to understand them. But do you put on a bold face 
now, go and get a partner for the waltz, and I will keep a look 
out for you to see what's in the wind. 

[Carroll goes to several ladies, they refuse and the company gener- 
ally shrink from, and, turn, their backs on hi'ui. Enter Liz'/af., fol- 
lowed by Mrs. Phipps. 



32 EVERY-DAY LIFE. 

Lizzie. No, madam, no. I am the hostess here, and I must 
not listen to slanderous whisperings about the humblest of my 
guests. To-morrow will be time enough to hear you. But to- 
night he is here by my invitation, and be he clerk or teacher or 
what you will, he shall be treated as a gentleman. [Notices the 
manner Carroll is being treated.] If woman is weak she some- 
times can protect, when man's strength is powerless. 

[Pauses a moment, then goes up and offers herself to Carroll as 
partner, and they waltz. Enter Medlav, tipsy. 

Med. [To Fox.] Help me, daddy, or I sink. That horrible 
wine has poisoned me. My head feels as though I had just come 
out of a lager bier cellar. Gad, there she is dancing with that 
beggar again, and she wouldn't give me a chance to tell my conun- 
drums, or even hear a word about my horses. I'd like now just 
to give 'em a tumble on the floor together. 

Fox. You are a bold fellow, Dick, and dare do what no one 
else dare. 

[Medlay puts himself htfore Carroll and Lizzie, as tliey waltz 
towards the front of the stage ; drops his glove and stoops doum ex- 
tending one leg behind so as to come in their loay. Blake stand- 
ing near, jerks him out of the way and he falls his length. 

Fox. You are rude, sir, to my young friend. 

Blake. Fox, I know you, and you know me. You are a 
worthless puppy, and if you ever speak to me again I'll send my 
boat'son after you with his cat and he knows how to use it. 

Mrs. p. Come, Henry, we have staid too long, let us say good- 
night. 

Fox. We may wait till morning for that ceremony. Our 
princely host has taken himself off to bed, and his daughter there 
is bestowing all her smiles on one of his clerks. [Speaking this so 
^ as to be heard by several.] We might as well all go at once. 

[A general exit. 

SCENE 11.—^ Low Grocery Store. 

Grocer behind the counter, tohich runs along the back of stage. At 
a right angle to the counter is a pile of soap and candle boxes, 
forming a screen, dividing off a third of the stage. Behind this 
screen, a party of half-a-dozen of the loioest class are drinking and 
2)laying cards. Italian Boy is playing icith jjcbbles near r. e. 
Behind counter is door, open, shoioing staircase. Two or three 
ragged children and a miserable woman enter, one after another, 
for spirits, ivhich they carry away in tin coffee-pot, broken tea-cup, 
and the like. 

1st Loafer. Give me the papers ; my deal. 



KVKIJV-DAY L1FK. 33 

Nkgko. I won't play 'gin ; I ain't no Inck. if I be a nigger. 

2d Loaf. Carl, give 's 'nothcr go all 'round; the drinks is on 
me. 

Grocer. No, lads, you're getting a deal too noisy. Them silk 
gowns '11 be here maybe 'fore long. Keep easy till they be gone, 
and I'll stand treat for the crowd. 

1st Loaf. I'll bet you won't think a word about it. 

2t> Loaf. No. 'cause we'll be gone 'fore they be. 

[Lool^ing ngnifica/ntl!/ at each other. 

3d Loaf. See. this won't be too heavy. is it? {Showing cudgel. 

1st Loaf. I've got something heavier 'n that for that damned 
thief. Wait. I've felt his timber, novr he's got to have a taste o' 
mine. 

Enter Carroll, disguised^ from l. d., behind counter. 

Car. It's past the hour, and they may not come to-day. But 
I dare not go ; I'll make some pretense for staying here awhile. 

[Calls for heer^ tohich is put on table ; he takes oiit pipe and lays it 
doion, ^c. 

1st Loaf. [Appearing to look through the screen.'] Hush, boys; 
the dry goods are coming ; I see their fricasee petticoats a-getting 
out o' the carriage, top o' the alley. 

2d Loaf. That rascal. Wait, marching on ahead on 'em. straight 
as a ramrod ; I'll put a kink into him afore he's out o' tins. 

Enter W kit . followed hy Mrs. Phipps and Lizzie. 

Lizzie [to Boy.] Ah, my little fellow, happy as ever, witli 
only those little pebbles to play with. Here's something to buy 
marbles with. 

Boy. Gratzia, Signorina. 
[Girl enters from l. d., and ushers in Mrs. P. and, luizziE, loho fol- 

loiDS her out. Wait remains talking with Grocer. 

1st Loaf. Now, boys, do we all know our parts ? I'm to tap 
the grocer and get his book. He would'nt tick me for a bit of ba- 
con, Saturda}'. 

2d Loaf. I'm to settle scores with Wait. 

3d Loaf. And I'm to see what cash is in the till. 

1st Loaf. And you, you black devil, you're to grab the old 
gal's watch and puss. 

Negro. And kiss the young one, may be. 

1st Loaf., [pointing to Carroll.] He'll run; if he don't, 
some of us can do for him. 

Re-enter Mrs. P. and Lizzie, loith Girl. 

Lizzie. What a perfect piece of work that poor man is mak- 
ing from that piece of marble, and in that wretched chamber, too. 
Mrs. P. And how wonderfully like you it is. 



34 



KVKRY-DAY LIFK 



Lizzie. Tell your father I wish to buy that piece of marble 
he's carving, [^o JBoY.] 

Boy. My padre no sell him. He make him for one signer. 
LizziR. Then he must make anotJier like it, for me. Here is 
some money for him. 

[While LizziR is talkiag to Boy, Wait points out Carroll to 
Mrs. Phipps. Lizzie goes and converses in dumb show with Ital- 
ian Girl. 
Mrs. p. How providential. I'll show him to her at once. 

[Mrs. p. steps hack to Lizzie. 
Carroll {to Wait.] Policeman, don't look round, but hear 
what I say. Be on your guard, there's mischief at hand. Be 
ready ; I'll stand by you. T'here's help enough outside. 

Mrs. Phipps [coming fonoard]. I want to show you an old ac- 
quaintance here, a gentleman you've seen before. He's here in 
disguise and tliinks he's not known. 

[Pile of boxes is throvrn doicn, the Loafers rush forward. Wait 
Jlres on them, also Grocer froin behind counter. Negro fallSj 
with tioo or three others. Mrs. P. screams ; hizziK faints in Car- 
roll's arms. Several policemen rush in. Tableaux. 

SCENE HI, — Batter u Grounds. — Vieto of harbor, with vessels lying 
at anchor in distance — Dark and rainy at commencement ; after- 
toards bright moonlight. 

Enter Carroll, carrying carpet-bag , folloioed by Boatman carrying 

oars. 

Boatman. Boat, sir ? want a boat, sir ? 

Car. Yes, I want a boat. Do you know where the ship Al- 
thea lies ? 

Boatman, Yes, sir. Captain Blake's clipper : there she lies — I 
can see her ; it's too dark for you to see. That's her light you 
can see yonder. She'll be off 'fore daylight ; the wind's just 
hauled fair. The Captain himself'll be going aboard in an hour or 
so. 

Car. Here, take my bag, and I'll be with you shortly. 

Boatman. Thank 3'ou, sir ; my boat is just alongside the wall, 
by that lamp-post yonder. [Exit Boatman with bag. 

Car. [<Sc*^«5.] Again I stand alone without an object, without 
an aim in life. Cast off b}'" my new found acquaintance, and by 
some hidden agency dismissed from the regard of one who called 
himself my father's life-long friend : but with whom I would not 
plead or remonstrate. Those waves I hear plashing yonder have 
invited many a wretch to confess the errors of his life, and end all 
its misery by one b^ld plunge. To me they call in vain. Mine 
is no such despairing soul. 'Tis only man that frowns upon me, 



EVERY-DAY LIFE. 35 

not lieaven. Beyond the thick vapors that make this darkness 
here, there is a sky that beams with eternal brightness and circles 
all tlie earth. This darkness is now my friend, and hides my de- 
parture from the spot where once I had a home. The chilly wind 
sweeps with gusty sound through the bare limbs of those familiar 
trees : and it has made them strong and hardy : while I have 
dreamed the years of life awa}^ in sunny and sheltered spots. 
Now I stand, like them, bare, and exposed to all that time and 
chance may bring to me. But they will bloom again, and the 
birds return and sing among tlie branches, and make a holiday for 
man and cliild. Have I no strength, no courage, no hope ? A 
way is opened to me. I'll go : and these moaning winds, too, 
shall be my friends, to carry me to far-off lands, where fortune 
and a home may yet be gained. A home ! no, my heart can nev- 
er have but one home, and that is here, where these waters flow 
among their companion hills and rocks, tliat never change ! And 
here is her home, too ; whose smile has gladdened for me a few 
short hours of life, I can never forget. Yet, such fond dreaming 
would bind me here a weak and idle man. I'll remember her as 
a generous, noble friend ! and that shall dignify my ever}'- thought 
and act to the end of life. Through this gloom the light comes 
streaming from the windows of her house. I'll go nearer to speak 
unheard a last farewell. [Exit. 

Enter Wise. 

Wise. The storm is nearly over, the clouds are breaking away. 
I must take the air a while j I shall sleep the better for it. 

Enter Wait. 

Wait. Sir, I've just come from your house to look for you. 
Your clerk, Carroll, is innocent. I've found the forger of j'our 
name. It's Mr. Fox himself ! Kitty helped me to discover him, 
and I shall wake him up to-morrow morning an hour or two be- 
fore his time. 

Wise. But where is Carroll, the young man whom I have so 
deeply wronged by my suspicions, and dismissed from my office ? 
Thank heaven, I used no harsh words to him. We must find him 
before we sleep. 

[Carroll crosses back j^'^i't of stage^ as though searching for the 

boat, and exit.] 

Enter Italian Bov. 

Boy. [Following after Carroll]. That shall be Signor Carroll. 
Wait. Excuse me a moment, 1 see a little vagabond yonder, I 
must catch him. [Goes after Boy, seizes him. 



36 EVERY-DAY LIFK. 

Wait. [Forw^rr'^f]. What are you cloin;2; here, this time o' night, 
you little thief — alter })icking geiitlemeii's ])ockets? 

Boy. Me no tief. Me go find Signor Carroll. 

Wise. What can you know of liim, my lad ? 

Boy. He one very good friend to my jiadre. My padre poor, 
sick long time. vSignor give him money ; ray padre get well 
strong, he make one marble iiead for Signor Carroll. Signor. he 
say he sail 'way from New York dis night. lie tell me come 
here see him. and bring piece marble for Signorina in dat house. 
I leave marble dere. 

Wait. Tlie boy speak.s true. I was at your house a moment 
since, and -aw it brought in. [Eu'er Carroll. 

Car. Policeman, can you help me find a boat I'm in search of. 
The boatman was to talce me on board the AlJhca. Ah ! there's 
my little friend I was expecting to .-ee here. 

WiSK. Sir, I hope you'll want no boat to-night. But stay, and 
let a friend undo the deep wrong 3'ou have suffered at his hands. 

[Wise turns his face to Carroll. 

Car. [RecugnlsL/ig]. I have not sought this meeting, sir. 

Wise. But I trust that I shall have cause to thank heaven for 
it, to the last day of my life. Come to my house, and this man 
will help explain to you how that I was made to suppose 3'ou un- 
deserving of my confidence. Your friend. Captain Blake, will 
call on me for his papers, before he sails. So tliat if you are still 
resolved, you can go aboard with him. {Exmnt onacs. 



SCENE IV.— Wise's House. 

Enter Lizzie, holding an open letter, followed by Kitty, bringing 
the small marble viedallion^ which she stands on table. 

Kitty. And sure, Miss Elizabeth, if the gentleman did forget 
to write his name to his own letter, ye need not be wondering 
who has sent ye this sweet image of yourself ; you've been hear- 
ing me speaking to you of him all day long. 

Lizzie. I believe you, Kitty. 

Kitty. And ye may believe every word I say. For didn't he 
work for days and days all alone in his chamber, making a pattern 
for this same ? and hadn't I every day to sweep away the litter he 
made with his cla}^ and his plaster ? But Lord knows I never 
grudged that bit o' trouble, being I tliougtit was the image of the 
Blessed Lad}' herself lie wrought on. 

Lizzie. This delicately-chiseled marble tells, as no words could 
tell me, how much I must have been in j)is thouglits. And these 
few lines tell me tb.at now he has gone — perhaps never to return. 



EVERY-DAT LIFE. 37 

Kitty. He may not be gone away yet, marm. Wait is here, 
and I'll make him start and hnnt the whole town over this night 
to find him for you. 

Liz z IK. You must do no such thing, Kitty. 

Kitty. Then ye've patience to wait for his coming back of 
himself, as you know he will sure, if he loves you ; as like he 
must, after looking at yer face so long to make your likeness in 
stone. 

Lizzie. Why should he go away in such haste ? There is some 
mystery about him which makes me fear to think of him. That 
wind I hear is bearing him leagues away, and from some trouble 
here it must be. 

Kitty. He may, like enough, have trouble to drive him off. This 
old woman coming, as I told you, with a policeman, to ransack 
his lodgings, and setting spies to watch him night and day, and 
telling it all over town what a poor good-for-nothing he was. 
That's enough to drive away the honestest gentleman in New 
York. 

^ Enter Wise. 

Wise. Kitty, Wait is below to speak with you. [Exit Kitty. 

Lizzie. My father. [ Weeping.] 1 have always loved you, and I 
always will love and — obe}^ you. 

Wise. My child I do not blame you, no my darling. I your 
old father loved the young man myself and cannot blame a girl 
like you. 

Lizzie. [Handing letter.] Read this, dear father, and tell me 
what dreadful thing — what has he done that he must fly ? 

Wise. No, I do not wish to read it. Keep it until he comes 
back to us, and that may not be long. 

Enter Kitty. 

Kitty. Mrs. Phipps and Mr. Fox are waiting in their carriage 
to know if you are at home ? 

Lizzie. I can see no one now. [Kitty lohispers Lizzie. 

Wise. Yes, dry up j'our tears, my darling, and go into the 
library. Captain Blake is there with another friend you'd like 
to see. Tell them to come up. 

[Exeunt Lizzie and Kitty, r. and l. 

Enter Fox and Mrs. Phipps. 

Mrs. p. You must excuse us for coming at this late hour, but 
we have so large a circle of friends and but a few days left too 
make our calls. 

Wise. You are quite welcome. You could not have come at a 
better time. 



38 EVERY-DAY LIFE. 

Mrs. p. Where is Lizzie ? I hope she has recovered from the 
shock of that dreadful scene. I am glad she does not know Car- 
roll was there, or her girlish fancy might suppose that he was 
our protector there. 

Fox. I have been at some trouble to inquire about that affair, 
and think it possible that it was a piece of theatrical clap-trap he 
contrived so as to recommend himself to your daughter's regard. 

Mrs. p. But have you yet found who forged your notes ? 

Fox. Clarissa the young man has gone; he has been kindly 
allowed to leave the country. So its hardly worth while to say 
more about him. I saw Wait here. [To Wise.] A moment since 
as I came in. Call him up and I will satisfy our friend once for 
all. 

[Wise rings. Kitty enters.] 

Wise. Tell Wait to come ; yes, and ask up all the company 
from the library. [Exit Kitty. 

Enter Wait. 

Fox. Wait have you those papers with you ; let Mr. Wise look 
at them. 

Re-enter Kitty. 

Wise. [Taking papers and inspecting them.] The very names. 

Enter Lizzie, Carroll and Blake, at hack of stage. 

Fox. Where did you find those papers ? 

Wait. I picked them up from under the writing table in Mr. 
Carroll's lodgings. 

Kitty. [To Fox.] And I saw you throw those papers there. 
Saw you do it with my own eyes. I did. 

Mrs. p. Why girl, are you crazy? Do you know you may be 
punished for such falsehoods about respectable people. 

Kitty. But I did see him though. For when Wait told me to 
go and watch the street door, so the gentleman might not come 
in and catch you marm, while you were rummaging his room, 1 
just ran into the next room and peeped through the bed-room 
window, where your young man used to Ajratch Mr. Carroll for 
you, and there I see everything you did there that day. 

Mrs. p. I'll not stay another moment in this house, where a 
servant is allowed to insult me before her master's face. [Going 
Fox offers to attend her. Wait folloics close to Fox. To Fox.] No 
sir, I shall go home in my carriage alone to-night. 

[Exit Mrs. Phipps. Carroll, Blake and Lizzie advance. Fox 
on returning to Wise discovers their presence. 



EVERY-DAY LIFE. 39 

Fox [to himself]. Carroll here at this unlucky hour. [T 
Wise.] A man of your position, and with your experience in 
the world will hardly suspect your friends without more proof 
than what this lump of a servant girl says. People of her class 
are oftentimes as artful as they are ignorant. 

AYait. Sir, I have a special respect for this young lady, and 
you'd better not speak unrespectfully of her, if you wish to be 
comfortable wbile you're in my charge. 

Fox. You're charge ! This is not a court, and if it were, 
there's only that girl to say anything. 

Wait. Don't make yourself uneasy about that. To-morrow, 
the judge '11 hear enough more of your tricks. Your friend, Mr. 
Pike, has been leaking a little ; and then, too, ye'll remember 
sitting awhile one day at this gentleman's desk, in the counting- 
house ; and a great deal more that shall be told — enough to sat- 
isfy ye, if ye are any ways reasonable. [Taking out badge.] So 
now, if ye please, ye are my prisoner. 

Wise. What say you, my friends ; is the prisoner here guilty, 
or not guilty ? 
All. Guilty. 

Wise. Then let us save our overtaxed city the cost of another 
trial, and pass sentence on him now. Let him be " transported 
for life." Do you understand me. Captain ? 

Blake. Yes, I'll take him along with me, round the Horn, and 
set him ashore in Patagonia. The rascal deserves that, not only 
for his financiering, but for his cruel tricks to ruin the character 
and prospects of an honest man. 

Wait. But he is my prisoner, and I shan't get the three hun- 
dred dollars reward, if I let him slip that way. 

Lizzie. [Going up to Wait, takes his badge and puts it on Kit- 
ty]. No, Kitty must have the reward — she is the detective; 
we owe everything to her. 

Wise. And she shall have it, too, to her credit in the Savings 
Bank, to-morrow. 

Kitty. [Takes Bamk jJdss-book from her bosoin]. Three hundred 
put with two hundred twenty -three dollars and two shillings ; 
how much does that make ? 

Wait. Goodness, Kitty, that'll stock our farm for us, Kitty. 
Take him along with you, Captain, if you please. I would'nt 
agree to it but lor fear the Governor up at Albany might pardon 
him, and so we'd lose all the trouble we've had to catch him. 
Take him along. Captain. But I'll go with you, he might bolt. 
Car. Captain, let him have the use of my outfit. 
Cap. No! a monkey-jacket and tarpaulin '11 be all the outfit 
he'll want, aboard my ship. 

[Exeunt Captain, Fox, Wait and Kitty. 



40 



EVERY-DAY LIFE. 



Wise. There are now but us three left of all the characters 
who have figured here in this little play of Erery-Day Life. 
You, sir, have borne, with patience, the hard rubs of fortune, and 
I have unknowingly added to your burthens. If my daughter, 
here, can persuade you to forget her father's injustice, I will 
leave that task to her. 

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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END. 



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